


International Quiddich

by alyssakay347



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (without the pillow), M/M, Pillow Talk, Quidditch, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 01:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyssakay347/pseuds/alyssakay347
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco play on the same Quiddich team. It works out pretty well in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	International Quiddich

They won. And what a game it was.

Harry played seeker for over half the game until a foul by the other team left him unconscious in the wet sand of the stadium.

He did well, outmaneuvering his opponent every time the snitch was spotted—times that were few and far between during night games. Even with the enchanted lights, the quick and coy snitch could drive any inexperienced seeker loonier than Luna. But Harry was certainly not inexperienced; on several occasions he was able to follow the snitch so far up that the stadium lights made up only a small, glowing halo below.

After his particularly harrowing fall third year, Harry had always been reluctant to push too far up. Throughout the match, he and the other seeker would fly after gold reflections until Harry gave in and flew back to the field. He knew that his reluctance could lose his team the game, yet the snitch remained uncaught every time, and eventually the other seeker would come down as well.

The drizzle that started half an hour into the game turned into a steady rain. The wind picked up. All players on and off field were getting antsy, and so was the audience, who could only tolerate so much bad weather in an uneventful game.

Nothing could be worse for a seeker than rain, bad visibility, and an unbalanced score. In Hogwarts Quiddich, catching the snitch was often a guaranteed win. But Inter-School Quiddich was far less simple, and far more stressful. And this was the Championship.

It was only second to professional Quiddich, and the ISQ Championship was only second to the World Cup in prestige. In Inter-School Quiddich, nations would put together a dream team from their domestic Schools of Magic to compete with other countries. And, of course, with more advanced players came more advanced playing.

Catching the snitch becomes more of a race against the clock rather than a race against the opponent, because it's only a matter of time before the scoreboard reaches the point of no return: when 150 points isn't enough to overtake the other team's score.

So, with the toxic brew of bad weather, bad visibility, and a score of 210 to 50, both teams felt ready to kill. Harry's team wasn’t having a great game, and with their score, catching the snitch was critical to winning. Team members were already close to exhaustion, and getting those few extra points to push the team over the edge into victory—assuming Harry caught the snitch—was becoming more and more unlikely.

Harry’s team might be losing, but their German opponents weren’t about to take it easy.

The rain fell harder and thunder began to roll—but the game wouldn't be cancelled. Dome shields began to form above him to protect the stadium from lightning, but even if there wasn’t protection, everyone—refs, players, audience members who enjoy seeing people struck to the ground—would be far too intent on the game to notice trivialities like potentially dangerous weather.

Brooms flew fast and winds blew faster. Harry tried to take advantage of the boosts the gusts could give him, but the damn snitch seemed of a mind to force him straight into them instead.

The other seeker was at Harry's right in a flash. Literally—lightning had made its first appearance of the night. The audience cheered.

His opponent bumped up against him hard when they both caught sight of the snitch again at ten o' clock. Harry ignored him and sped to his target. The wind favored him, and as he got closer he could feel his heart beat faster with anticipation. Another lightning bolt flashed in the distance. Even in his peripheral vision, Harry noticed it was big.

The earsplitting rip of thunder that followed made every player on the field falter, and even the incessant cheering was drowned out. But Harry ignored the rattling in his head and flew top-speed towards the snitch—he was so close.

There was a loud curse behind him, secondary only to his own heart's furious pounding as he reached out his arm—

His opponent slammed into him just as another deafening roll of thunder tore through the stadium. Harry’s balance had been compromised the moment he’d gone all-in for the final stretch. He didn't have a hope.

He blacked out long before he hit the ground.

A few minutes later, Harry became aware of a medic helping him up and escorting him to the sidelines. He felt out of body, like whatever happened was a message too far away to read.

But then he remembered: his team was losing. Harry blinked into full awareness and pushed the medic away.

"Where's my broom? I fell. I need—where—" He only took three steps unsupported before the whole world tilted and he nearly fell again. Harry heard the medic say something about "unfit to play sir" and "a foul sir" and he felt the anxiety kick in colder than the sheets of rain.

"What do you mean? I didn't foul! I fell—I was pushed off! I didn’t—"

"Not you, Mr. Potter," the man said, practically carrying him to the medic room nearby. "Germany's seeker made an illegal move against you. I heard the referee yelling." He opened the door as Harry took in his words.

"But—"

"The match has been stalled. Your team's alternate seeker will replace you. You can relax."

It didn't click. "Relax? I can’t—wait." Then it did.

"Fuck!" He ran out of the doorway and into the rain. He heard some "Mr. Potter!"s but that didn’t stop him. Harry quickly spotted Draco talking to one of the refs several yards away and headed towards him.

He was just a few feet behind him when he started spouting off all he could, "He favors his left, farsighted, broom's fourth generation—"

Draco jumped and whipped around. "Potter, what the hell? What are you doing?"

Harry only interrupted, "Afraid of bludgers and stays aways from the goals, not afraid of heights—"

"Obviously not, unlike _you._ " Draco interrupted back. He hissed, "What the you doing out here? There's no way you're fit to play. Shit, half the team asked if you're dead." His point was proved when Harry noticed several black spots appear in his vision and saw the ground begin to rise to his face. Draco grabbed his arms just as the medic ran up to them both.

Harry couldn't control the feeling that getting player information across to his teammate was life or death. "Don't think you're a smarter flyer than him and don't use brute force to outpace him either, you…" Harry's mind ran out of words as fast as it had supplied them. He closed his eyes and realized that he had the worst headache of his life. "My head…"

"Yeah," Draco said uncertainly, letting the medic take over, "Your head, go see to that. Don’t come back."

Even with a concussion, Harry could see the gleam in his eyes where everyone else saw only derision, "Though it may be a lost cause at this point."

Everything must have been moving at twice the rate Harry was capable of processing, because a moment later Draco was halfway up to center field where the other players were poised to resume the game.

The medic was attempting to _drag_ Harry indoors this time, but it was no use. Harry forced his way to the benches, and clumsily sat down on an empty one lacking cover. He noticed the medic duck under the overhang where the other team managers and members were waiting and watching; apparently he was appeased Harry was at least sitting. No doubt he had dealt with difficult quiddich players before.

Alone on the bench, in the pouring rain, Harry watched. His neck ached along with his head, but his glasses were what annoyed Harry the most as he constantly wiped them to see. He could've charmed them dry even without his wand on him, but at that moment, could only think of the magic of brooms.

The game began again and Harry attempted to keep up with all that was happening up in the air. He let himself be sucked into the game; he made sure he witnessed every goal, every flying pattern, and most importantly, Draco's every move.

If the intensity of Harry's concentration could have willed Draco to catch the snitch, the game would have ended in a heartbeat. But Harry knew that Draco, his equal in seeking, had no need of pure luck.

Harry might have passed out some, because he jerked to attention when the crowd's screaming turned up a few notches. Harry wiped his glasses again and saw the cause: an intense flight war for the snitch had begun. Draco and the other seeker battled by cutting each other off, flying up and around and from below, pushing and bumping to the very limits of what the rules allowed; all the while reaching out with one hand and flying three times the speed of every other player on the field.

Harry assumed they were close to the snitch; it was impossible to see it from where he sat, especially with the rain. Harry wanted to see the score, too, but he was loath to look away from the two seekers. He could only hope that his team had the upper hand when the snitch sealed the game's fate.

There was a collective exclamation from the audience, and from Harry as well, when Draco Malfoy and Germany's best seeker collided. The opponent caught himself by one hand as the broom steadied midair while Draco swung himself back around and paused to look for the snitch.

More thunder assaulted the airwaves; lightning struck the dome of protective spells. Draco must have seen the snitch because he flew chest-to-broomstick-speed up towards the top of the dome, which shimmered with electricity.

Harry's insides turned colder than they had all night. _What are you doing?_ Harry thought. But he knew. As Draco sped to the snitch, the other seeker quickly recovered from dangling and began his own pursuit. Another flash of lightning made the protective dome tremble.

Draco flew closer to the threshold. The other seeker was directly below him as Draco reached out. Harry stopped breathing.

Draco whipped his broom around just as lightning struck over his head. The broom ignited instantly, but Draco was already falling.

Until he landed on the other seeker's broom below him.

The other boy had tried to move but was too late; Draco knocked them both over, but it was Draco who held on with both hands.

He was clinging to the broom by what seemed like a thread as it flew towards its falling owner. Draco grabbed hold of the boy's arm, and with what might have been both players' willpower combined, the broom slowed until it reached the ground, and they dropped to the sand.

The ashes and sparks of Draco's broomstick remains descended calm and slow like snow.

Harry's mind was still in shock when Draco stood up, opened his mouth, and spit the snitch into his hand, raising it to the crowd just as he had once done. Harry finally glanced at the score. They had won.

And the silent crowd went wild.

__

  


A little more than an hour after Draco’s winning catch, the lockers were finally quiet.

Both Harry and Draco received plenty of attention for their feats of the game, but their teammates quickly cleared out to celebrate without them when they didn't pick up the pace. Harry's headache had alleviated some, but now something else was bothering him; he couldn’t stand the uncertainty that was running rampant in his mind.

 _Why not?_ Harry decided.

He took off his glasses and set them down with his things. Then he walked over to Draco, who was about to button up his shirt.

Draco looked up and paused. He looked expectant, but Harry just stood there. Draco reluctantly returned to his shirt again.

But Harry grabbed his wrist to stop him. They stood like that for a moment before Harry let go to slowly push the shirt off him.

"Harry…?" Draco didn't resist; he just stared at him like he was a particularly impossible NEWT question.

Draco's shirt fell to the floor. "Amazing flying out there," Harry said. "I didn’t see one mistake."

"I don’t know how you could even pay attention after—"

Harry stepped forward and tilted his head enough to press their lips together hard. His right hand automatically lifted to touch the base of Draco's neck—it was warm, and Harry’s eyes closed. Draco hesitated only a moment before slipping his hands around his waist, eliminating the last inch or so between them.

Harry heard himself exhale and everything inside him tingled. They kept kissing, with rapidly devolving caution, and he let his hands roam from Draco's shoulders up to his jaw. His skin was just so smooth; Harry couldn't help pressing harder, closer, as his mind abandoned him and his instincts took over.

Draco's hands moved just as enthusiastically, groping his ass, gripping Harry's waist hard enough to mark. Draco lowered his mouth to the top of Harry's neck and moved his way down in time with one hand slowly descending into the back of Harry’s boxers.

It felt incredible. But then it became a distraction to the goal to get closer, somehow closer.

Harry could feel Draco's erection just as much as his own. But that only made the friction better and the need for more contact worse. He pulled them both backwards until lockers slammed into his back. Draco pushed himself onto him, capturing his mouth while it was open and using his tongue experimentally.

"Draco," Harry whispered when he broke away to breathe.

Harry turned them and pressed Draco into the lockers. Harry heard Draco make a noise and instinctively put his hand down under Draco's thigh, coaxing it around his hip. He pressed their groins together and began to grind.

Draco let himself indulge in the position of submission for a few moments before reversing them again, slamming Harry against the lockers far less gently. Harry wanted to yell at him, but Draco leaned in with one hand pressed against locker doors, the other hand firmly gripping Harry's erection. Harry exhaled harshly, mumbling curses as his own hand immediately flew to meet Draco's.

He pressed Draco's hand into his own groin as hard as he could manage in his partially-functioning state. Draco encouraged the frenzy, pressing upward in a merciless grip until Harry was on his toes against the lockers.

It became too much for either of them, and too little—Draco manhandled him to the bench next to him. Harry found himself lying on his back with Draco above him, eyes barely open and breathing heavily.

Harry was beginning to form a thought about the uncomfortable surface before Draco found a brilliant angle with even more satisfying friction than before. Harry gasped, and Draco moaned.

Draco vanished all their clothes. Harry hardly noticed—he was painfully hard, though he reveled in it. He lifted his hips closer as Draco moved and soaked in the intimacy as much as the pleasure itself. Then Harry felt a wave of something indescribably strong and gripped Draco's head down close to his, lips barely touching. Draco made one last, firm drag of friction against Harry before coming. Harry reached to touch himself and came barely a moment after.

There was only breathing for a while.

Harry opened his eyes; they looked straight into Draco's. There was anxiety in them and that made Harry feel uneasy.

 _I started this_ , Harry thought, _so it's my fault. If he’s upset—_

"Harry," Draco said, "I'm sorry, I…" He looked away.

Harry closed off his expression, scared of being brushed away. "What?"

"I went too far. I shouldn’t have—"

"Don’t," Harry spoke over him, "Don't say it. Can't you just…pretend you don't regret it right now?"

Draco looked puzzled. "I don’t regret it. Do you?"

"No. No…" Harry replied. He closed his eyes again and absently let his hands roam on Draco's arms.

"Oh," Draco said to himself. They were still for a minute until Harry felt lips on his again. This time, the kiss was much more hesitant. But Harry put whatever little strength he had left into it anyway.

Several minutes passed like that before something appeared in Harry's mind. He broke away and whispered, "God, I wish took your hand."

"What?"

"First day of school. You remember. I wish took your hand and was your friend from day one."

"I wasn't worth being friends with," Draco said. " _You_ remember, I’m sure." Draco said. "I was rather awful.…"

"Yeah, you were, but…I don't know. Maybe I would've been a better influence or something. Better than your dunce friends." Harry sighed. "At least we wouldn't have been enemies. It would have been nice…to be friends. I shouldn't have said anything to that damn hat."

"I don't think _nice_ is the right word," Draco said, smirking.

Harry finally opened his eyes. Draco was sitting on the bench normally, and Harry made an effort to sit up with him.

Draco trained his eyes on the floor. "My father warned me to stay away from you well before the beginning of term, of course, but…"

"But what?"

"I think I would have become friends with you anyway."

"But your dad—"

"I know. But I can imagine myself back then," Draco said. "And I would have been terrified of making him angry, but if you had been in the same house…I probably would have bothered you so much that I'd unintentionally force you into friendship. Or maybe intentionally, but I don’t think I was that smart."

Harry smiled and shook his head. "Yeah, you annoy me, I annoy you back—and with no Griffindors to stop me—I would give in. I know you well enough now to know that you're an asshole, but you’re not _evil_ , and if I had known that back then, I probably could have gotten over your _lesser_ traits." He paused. "I thought I knew myself back then, too, when I didn't. Even the hat thought I should be in Slytherin at first. Maybe picked the wrong House."

"I wouldn't tell that to your Griffindors if I were you."

"They would still be my friends," Harry said, frowning. "I would still defeat the Dark Lord." He didn't know who had scooted closer, but their sides were touching now. "I'm pretty sure, anyway. Now that I think about it, everything would have been so different, wouldn’t it?"

"I don't think so."

Harry sent him a questioning look.

"All the Dark Lord stuff would have been the same," Draco began. "Like you said, you still would have defeated him. You were the enemy, no matter which House. You would still be Mr. Boy Who Lived."

Draco looked like he had something else to say. Harry pushed against him. "What?"

"Things…things would have been mostly different for me, I think."

Harry could see the comment wasn’t narcissistic from the expression on Draco's face.

Draco explained, "You were friends with Weasley and Granger…they would have been barely involved in the war if it hadn’t been for you, if at all—no offense. But if you were in Slytherin, and I was your friend…" He glared at the floor. "Well, I did have something to do with the war. And worse, my whole family was on the wrong side."

"No choice but to turn against me at some point, right?" Harry asked ruefully. "You'd have been a good spy. I would’ve probably told you things I shouldn't and end up fulfilling the dead half of the prophesy." He said it as a joke, but it came out strange.

Draco finally met his eyes again, and he looked frustrated. "No, I would’ve told _you_ too much and _I'd_ end up dead, except a lot less poetically. Maybe my dad would've let us be friends, but only if I could be a tool to use against you. But I doubt I would have had the guts to betray a…friend like you. I was a always a coward, especially when it involved going against my father, but I was even more terrified of being alone.

"I’ve never fit in anywhere," Draco continued. "Not in my family, not at Hogwarts, not on either side of the war. I never really had a friend, either. So betraying you would have…I don’t think I could have lived with myself."

Harry stared at him in shock. Once he let it all sink in, he tried to find something to say. "Well I’m your friend now. I would have been a _real_ friend back then, too, if things were different. Not like your dumb-fuck henchmen."

Draco’s smile barely noticeable. "You're one to talk."

"Shut up. My friends are great and I'm a great friend…or maybe I’m not. Sometimes I wasn’t. Maybe I would have been different in Slytherin. Maybe my quietness would rub off on you, or maybe your arrogance would rub off on me."

"Shut up."

"But after an overreaction over one comment you made before first year even really began, I was somehow convinced Slytherin was bad. So I begged a hat to keep me out, and now here I am."

Draco laughed. "That's an interesting summary of your life right there, Potter. I’m flattered I play such a _pivotal_ role. Not one a prophet would use, I'm sure."

Comfortable silence followed. "You want to leave?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Draco replied. "I don't want to celebrate, though; my broom was turned to ashes."

Harry smirked. "You can get a better one. Plus…we _have_ celebrated, haven’t we?"

Draco pushed his head away and got up. With a flick of his hand, their clothes popped back into existence. "Psh. You're welcome. I'm going to bed."

"Oh. Ok."

Draco stopped but didn’t turn around. "You can…come with me, if you want. I don't care."

"Sure." Harry felt like saying too much would cause Draco to change his mind, so he stood to get dressed. Draco was waiting for him just outside the locker room door—something that Hermione and Ron used to do before Quiddich took over Harry’s life.

Harry realized for the first time that a new era of his life had already begun.

  


  


  


  


  


  


**Author's Note:**

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